ADDITIONAL HYMNS.

GG

ADDITIONAL HYMNS.

Christ Incarnate.

1

When Thou, O Lord, in flesh wert drest,
The world Thou mad'st to free,
The Inn, where weary travellers rest,
Had not a room for Thee.

The Holy Babe in manger rude
Was all His birth-night laid;
Pondering God's words, in thoughtful mood,
Nigh watched the Mother Maid.

But oh! that wondrous midnight round
What light, what glories throng,
When man his infant Saviour found,
And heard the angels' song!

Sweet anthem ! caught from hosts on high,

Dwell thou our hearts within;

Blest bridal of the earth and sky,

Long separate through sin.

Though all unmeet that gladsome hymn

For harps by sin unstrung,

That psalm, by white-robed seraphim
In God's own presence sung,

Yet sometimes, when our spirit tires,
By toil and darkness worn,

Lord! make us hear seraphic choirs,
And give a glimpse of morn!

If love wax cold, and strife increase,
Chant in our hearts again,
"Glory to God on high, and peace
"On earth, good will to men!"

Joseph Anstice. 1836.

2

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning! Dawn on our darkness, and lend us Thine aid ! Star of the East, the horizon adorning,

Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid!

Cold on His cradle the dew-drops are shining; Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall; Angels adore Him, in slumber reclining,

Maker and Monarch and Saviour of all

Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion,
Odours of Edom and offerings divine?
Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the ocean,
Myrrh from the forest, or gold from the mine?

Vainly we offer each ample oblation;

Vainly with gifts would His favour secure : Richer by far is the heart's adoration;

Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning! Dawn on our darkness and lend us Thine aid! Star of the East, the horizon adorning,

Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid!

Bishop Reginald Heber. 1811.

Christ Crucified.

3

"And was crucified for us under Pontius Pilate; He suffered, and was buried."

Ride on ride on in majesty!

Hark! all the tribes Hosanna cry!

Thine humble beast pursues his road,

With palms and scattered garments strow'd.

Ride on ride on in majesty !

In lowly pomp ride on to die!

O Christ! Thy triumphs now begin

O'er captive Death and conquer'd Sin.

Ride on! ride on in majesty !

The winged squadrons of the sky

Look down with sad and wondering eyes
To see the approaching Sacrifice.

Ride on ! ride on in majesty !

Thy last and fiercest strife is nigh;
The Father on His sapphire Throne
Expects His own anointed Son.

Ride on ride on in majesty!

In lowly pomp ride on to die!

Bow Thy meek Head to mortal pain!

Then take, O God! Thy power, and reign!

Henry Hart Milman. 1827.